


Introspection (Striketober 2020)

by GTRWTW



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Canon Compliant, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Makeup, Memories, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Troubled Blood, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTRWTW/pseuds/GTRWTW
Summary: I am new to this so Striketober had sort of passed me by and I know I would never catch up, so I tried to write one long fic that incorporates all the prompts. They're not in order though.I also really wanted to write Robin's birthday meal, so this is the scene I chose. It doesn't follow on from my other fic.I'm really enjoying writing their first 'get together' scene so maybe I'll just keep doing versions of that 😂Anyway I really hope you like it!
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58
Collections: Striketober | Cormoran Strike Fictober 2020





	Introspection (Striketober 2020)

"Hey, girl. Want some company?"

Robin heard Vanessa Ekwensi's voice call out from the hallway. Robin was sitting at her dressing table, attempting to make sense of a YouTube tutorial on contouring that had briefly taken her interest. She was no longer interested and increasingly tempted to just give up. 

"Yeah, Van, I'm in here," she replied. "You might have to help me with this mess. I look like shit."

Vanessa laughed. "Oh, come on. Is that even possible?" She breezed into the room, dumping a small holdall and a plastic carrier bag on Robin's bed, then turning to face her friend's reflection in the mirror. "You look fine," she said, but Robin eyed her skeptically. "Ok, so you haven't quite got this down. Let's just start again." She reached across for a packet of wipes and threw them to Robin, who caught them, grinning.

Having wiped her face clean, Robin once again applied primer, gazing absently into the mirror. Vanessa watched her, frowning.

"Is something bothering you?" Vanessa asked. 

Robin considered her reply. There was no point in lying; Vanessa would see straight through it, and in any event she'd had enough of lying to everyone, including herself. She wanted the simple relief of offloading her feelings to a caring friend. She knew that Vanessa was discreet, and she suspected Vanessa wouldn't gloat like Ilsa would. 

"I just… want to look nice tonight," she said slowly. Vanessa kept looking at her expectantly. "I know people look at me as a friend, a roommate… I'd like them to maybe just see me as a woman for a change." She wondered if Vanessa might think she was crazy. "Sorry, it sounded better in my head. I mean that -"

"You mean that you want Cormoran to see you as a woman?" Vanessa surmised.

Robin grimaced. Was she that transparent? "Yes, I suppose I do," she replied, flushing scarlet. But he doesn't see me that way," she said dejectedly.

"Who told you that?" asked Vanessa.

"Nobody told me. It's just the way he acts. We work together, and it's all business. He's protective, but just because he's my boss. He never goes beyond the professional. Except -" She had been about to explain about the hug on the stairs, and the kiss at the hospital, but decided against it. "A couple of times I've thought he might, but it's just wishful thinking."

"Girl, you have no idea," said Vanessa, sitting down on the bed. "Let me tell you something. When you had that housewarming party with your dickhead ex husband, Cormoran wouldn't stop staring at you. He was with that Hollywood pinup woman and he still couldn't drag his puppy-dog eyes away from you all night." 

Robin laughed, uncertain. "You're joking. Don't lie to me!"

Vanessa smiled. "I'm telling you! Honestly," she said, "he looks at you like you're the only person in the room. When you found that leg he looked like he might kill someone. It took me all of two seconds to figure out that it was because someone was threatening you. He definitely has a serious thing for you. I don't understand why you can't see it, because it's completely bloody obvious to everyone else."

***

Twenty minutes later, Vanessa was ready to go, having pulled her electric blue jumpsuit and silver hoop earrings from her holdall. Robin had chosen a pale gold strapless dress, and her long hair was loose and lightly curled. Her dress lay waiting on the bed while she put the finishing touches to her eye makeup. She had abandoned contouring in favour of a more natural look, although she had paid particular attention to erasing the dark circles under her eyes and accentuating her long lashes. 

She turned in her seat, reaching for her dress and starting to unbutton the loose shirt she wore, when both women heard a clattering noise from the kitchen. Their heads whipped towards the doorway, Robin's fingers gripping the edge of the dressing table as she slowly started to stand.

"Don't move," said Vanessa, palm out towards Robin. She stood quite still, listening. A footstep, and then nothing. "I'll go and have a look."

"Vanessa, don't -"

"It's fine. It's the dog, or Max coming back. Don't worry," she said, shaking her head gently. "But stay there," she warned, and she walked steadily and silently out of the room.

***

Vanessa reached the kitchen and swept the scene with her eyes, fixing on the great figure by the entrance with his back to her. She leant into the doorjamb, folding her arms, and watched him as he set down several bags on the counter. He turned around and gave a faint start as he saw Vanessa standing there.

"Oh. Hi," said Strike. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Nor I you," said Vanessa, amused. "Is she expecting you?" She was even more amused when Strike looked embarrassed.

"Not exactly. I thought I'd surprise her. I know I'm early, but the tube will take a while."

Vanessa smiled. "She's just getting ready; I'll go and get her." She walked back towards Robin's bedroom. "And don't worry," she said over her shoulder, "I'll drive you there. You've got time for a drink or two."

***

"Don't freak out," said Vanessa, watching as Robin's expression instantly turned to worry, "but Cormoran's here."

"Oh God. What time is it? Are we late?" Robin asked, contorting as she tried to pull up the zip of her dress. "I can't reach it. Oh God," she repeated.

"Look, chill out, will you? Give it here," said Vanessa. Stepping around Robin, she tugged the zip into place. "We're not late, he wanted to get here early. Goodness knows why," she said innocently.

"All right. Give me five minutes, and I'll be out," Robin replied.

Vanessa left, rolling her eyes.

***

Five minutes had been and gone, and Strike and Vanessa were sitting on the sofa, beers in hand. Robin was still nowhere to be seen, and Strike was wondering what was taking so long. As much as he liked Vanessa, she wasn't the one for whom he'd endured two packed tube rides in rush hour. He'd hoped to carve out an interlude of time for himself and Robin before they met up with their friends, and while they now had more time due to Vanessa's offer, they also had a third wheel. It wasn't really conducive to the atmosphere he had hoped to create.

He wondered, for the umpteenth time, whether he was being ridiculous to think that Robin would want what he had to offer. He was ten years older than her, and broke, and he had a battered face and one leg. He didn't think he was much of a catch in the conventional sense. But he knew that Robin liked him; she would have applied to the Met by now if she didn't. He also knew that sometimes, when she thought he couldn't see, she watched him surreptitiously, her face pink. He just wished he knew what she was thinking, and whether she was imagining the same things he did when afforded a moment alone to look at her. 

"D'you want it?" asked Vanessa, interrupting Strike's inner monologue. He realised she'd stood, and she was now looking at him expectantly.

"What - What do you mean, do I want -?"

Strike's brain caught up, and he realised Vanessa was offering him the last of the three Belgian lagers she'd brought. He had supplied cans of John Smith's, and he had to admit that Vanessa's choice was better. He gratefully accepted, and Vanessa took a bottle of white wine from the fridge. 

"I'll go and hurry her up. I don't know what's taking her so long, I thought she was ready when I left her," said Vanessa, as she finished pouring.

"Let me," said Strike, setting his bottle down on the end table. If she was already dressed, and they were friends, where was the harm? He slowly walked towards the room at the end of the hallway, the one from which he'd heard music and chatter when he'd arrived. He had a mild curiosity about her bedroom; what would her personal space look like? He rapped softly on the door. "Robin?"

"Don't come in!" she called. Strike heard several dull thunks.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

As if in response, the door flew open and Robin stood there, with a mock-angry expression.

"High heel problems," she said, holding up a strappy white sandal with the heel snapped but still attached, so that it dangled alongside the sole.

Strike grinned. "Oh, I just hate when that happens."

"I bet you do," she said, grinning back.

Vanessa turned up in the hall and thrust the glass of wine she'd poured at Robin. 

"Oliver just called. He wants picking up from work and taking home to get changed before we go to the restaurant. I'll come back at seven to pick you up." She pulled her handbag onto her shoulder, car keys twirling in her other hand. 

"I didn't hear you on the phone," said Robin, eying Vanessa. 

"Oh. Strange," she said laconically. "See you at seven." With a meaningful wink at Robin, she left. 

Strike saw the wink - perhaps she'd meant for him to see it - and deduced that he must have been discussed in some previous conversation. The thought cheered him even further.

"What are you smiling about?" asked Robin.

"You look beautiful," said Strike.

Robin's cheeks turned pink. 

***

The restaurant was bright and open, with naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling and lush green plants along every windowsill. A long table had been placed in the very centre of the dining space, with several cream balloons tied to a chair in the middle.

Strike, Robin, Vanessa and Oliver were the first to arrive. Vanessa led the way, giving Ilsa's name and allowing the host to lead the group to their seats. Strike asked for a drinks menu and then sat, without preamble, in the seat to the immediate right of the seat adorned with balloons. Robin caught Vanessa's eye as she slowly took her place of honour. Vanessa raised her eyebrows very slightly, and Robin was impressed at her ability to convey so effectively the phrase 'I told you so' without speaking.

In twos, couple by couple, their friends arrived: Nick and Ilsa, carrying a white cardboard box between them, which disappeared somewhere between their entrance and their arrival at the table; Barclay, Andy and their wives, both of whom were carrying bottles of prosecco; and Max and his boyfriend, Scott. Robin stood to greet them all, meet the partners, and receive cards and gifts. She soon had a cluster of gift bags surrounding her feet, so that the bottles inside clinked whenever she moved. She felt that it was a happy sound. She sat back down and sipped her prosecco, feeling surprisingly at ease.

Strike kept up a steady stream of banter and sarcastic comments in her ear, and Robin laughed freely, despite being well aware that everyone at the table would be making assumptions. She felt past caring; their party was made up of couples, and nobody at the table would be surprised if she and Strike became a couple, so what did it matter? Robin stole looks at Strike whenever the mood took her, and she was pleased to see him looking down at her, seemingly as happy and relaxed as she was. 

When the starter plates had been cleared away, Strike pushed his chair out from the table, patting his pocket as he did so.

"Going for a smoke. I'll go to the bar on my way back. D'you want another?" he asked Robin.

"Sure," she replied, "but be careful. Ilsa's waiting to ambush you." She had spotted Ilsa hanging around the bar following a trip to the ladies', and she was sure that Strike's childhood friend knew perfectly well that he would want to take this opportunity to have a cigarette, and would therefore have to walk past her on his way out.

"How do you know she's going to ambush me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm a detective," she replied.

Strike laughed and, before he could stop himself, squeezed her hand. He stood and walked to the bar, feeling Robin's eyes on his back every step of the way.

***

Deciding to face Ilsa head on, Strike went to the bar first. "You all right, Ils?" he asked. Her answering smile told him that Robin was right; she'd been waiting for him.

"I'm good, Corm," said Ilsa mildly. 

"So come on, out with it," Strike said, with an air of getting the worst over with quickly. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"How are things with you?" Ilsa asked. 

Strike could tell that she wanted to add 'and Robin' to the end of the question, but she had decided to ease into it for reasons of her own. Maybe she thought he would be more inclined to reveal his secrets if she softened him up first. He decided to cut her off at the pass.

"Nothing's happened, Ilsa. It's her birthday and I'm being nice to her."

"Yeah, right, Oggy, and I'm a monkey's uncle. You couldn't look any more into her if you tried. You might want to try to look away from her once in a while," she answered. She sounded resigned, amused, but also a little annoyed.

"I'm confused," said Strike, "isn't this what you wanted?" 

"Yeah, it is, but -"

"So I don't get it, do you want me to stop being nice to her?"

"Of course I don't, don't be ridiculous. But are you into her or not? Can't you see how it could be confusing for her?"

"Ilsa, she's not a little kid," he said, irritated. "She's a thirty year old woman and she's capable of handling her own relationships." He ignored her smirk at the word. "I'm pretty sure we both know what we're doing and we're happy, all right? We don't need you butting in."

"All right, all right, I won't interfere!" Ilsa replied, laughing, her hands up in surrender. "I just wanted to know what was going on, that's all."

"Well, nothing, yet," he replied.

***

"And then, she says - "

"Nick, is this really necessary?" Strike asked, amused against his will. He was leaning slightly forward, forearms resting on the table. 

"Sorry, Oggy mate, I have to do this, she needs to know - "

Most of the table were laughing, including Robin and Nick himself, as he regaled them all with tales of his and Strike's antics at school. 

"So she says, 'where does it hurt?' And Oggy goes, 'right here, love'," Nick said, pointing. Tears of mirth were rolling down his face. "He made her jump, he was that - "

"Nick!" Ilsa interrupted, still laughing. "Are you trying to put the poor girl off?" 

"I don't know, is it working?" Nick replied, with a beaming grin. 

"For fuck's sake," Strike muttered under his breath, running one hand across his face.

Robin giggled, and laid her hand over Strike's. He looked up at her in surprise, and she was beaming at him. "Don't worry," she said, "I won't quit."

"It's not that I'm scared of," Strike replied jokily. 

Meanwhile, Nick was still in full flow. "And obviously, he was glad to see me turn up and save the day -"

"Don't flatter yourself," interjected Strike.

"- and then, he says, 'how long was I asleep?' And it was three in the morning!" The table erupted in laughter again.

"Nick, do me a favour," said Strike, "and shut up."

"Well, I could, Oggy, but what's in it for me?"

"I won't tell everyone about you and the ping-pong table," replied Strike.

"Oh, bloody hell, all right…" Nick replied, laughing. He was immediately bombarded with questions about ping-pong tables by Ilsa and Vanessa.

Robin's hand was still on top of Strike's. He turned his over, slowly, so that she had time to pull away. She didn't. She looked at him, and he enclosed her small hand in his. Her eyes looked rather watery all of a sudden. She smiled gently and looked away, focusing once again on the general chatter.

***

Robin had decided on some fresh air, heading outside to stand with the smokers in the restaurant's small outdoor seating area. There were towering heaters, real flames surrounded by cages, and fairy lights wrapped around wooden beams. Robin was one of only three people out there; the others were two women who looked to be in their forties, who were sitting on a wooden bench, smoking and gossiping. 

A lighter flared in the darkness, and Robin jumped. "You scared the shit out of me!" she said.

"Sorry," said Strike. "Are you warm enough out here?" 

"Not really," Robin replied. She was still wearing her gold strapless dress, and she didn't have a coat. She didn't want Strike to offer her his jacket; apart from not wanting to ruin any effect she hoped her outfit was having, he looked good in it.

"Here. Does this help?" And he passed her a Glencairn half full of whisky. She accepted gratefully.

"So, how's being thirty?" Strike asked, grinning.

Robin laughed lightly. "I don't feel any different, yet," she answered. "I've really enjoyed tonight, though."

"Didn't you think you would?" Strike asked her.

Robin looked at him curiously. He wasn't usually the one to instigate conversations about feelings, and she was intrigued at this new side of him. He had asked questions all night as though he really wanted to know the answers. It was nice.

"I don't know. You said to me once before that when there's pressure to have a good time, things can be... disappointing," she said slowly. "I'd been looking forward to that dinner at my flat, and you know how that went."

"Got you. You thought I'd get pissed and fuck it all up," said Strike. 

Robin laughed again. "It wasn't just you. I was knackered, and my brother's friends… I just didn't feel good that night," she finished.

"And you feel good tonight?" asked Strike.

"Yes."

"You look good."

"You said that already."

"Did I?"

The air had seemed to thicken around them, and they were throwing their thoughts out into it without caution or consideration. It felt good, Robin thought, to be rid of the usual overthinking that accompanied any non-work conversation they had. She wanted to keep this mood going; she wanted to press pause on the night and bask in the glow of his compliments and his attention.

"Have you enjoyed yourself?" Robin asked.

"Yeah, I have, actually. Your birthday cake was a highlight," he joked. "And you -" he broke off.

"And I?" said Robin. The unrestrained feeling had not left her. She willed Strike to join her.

Strike looked at Robin. He watched goosebumps rising on her arms, and the workings of her throat as she took a sip of her drink. Despite her words, he sensed a mild melancholy in her, and he didn't like it.

"You've been lovely. You're always lovely," he said simply. Robin blushed a deep red. "You shouldn't be down about turning thirty. You've accomplished loads. So many people blunder through life, but you've experienced a lot, survived a lot, and you've figured out what you want. You see yourself clearly. I don't think you realise how fucking lucky I am that you came to work for me before the Met snapped you up," he said, taking a gulp of his own drink before continuing. "And you're a good person. You've come to help me countless times; when I got stabbed, when my nephew was in the hospital. You really helped that day," he added.

Robin felt embarrassed. "What's brought all this on?" 

"I don't know, Robin. Someone once told me to try talking about my feelings. Well, that's what I feel," he replied. 

"I remember that day," Robin said softly, "when Jack was in the hospital. I couldn't not come. It was more for me really, because I couldn't stop thinking about how you were coping," she explained. 

"See? Because you're a good person," said Strike.

"Well, it's not the only reason why I remember that day," Robin ventured. 

Strike realised there would have been another way of viewing what she had done, and that, from a twat's point of view, she might have done the wrong thing.

"Yeah, I bet Matthew didn't like it," he said.

"He didn't, but that's not what I meant," said Robin. "That day… was the first time you kissed me."

Strike looked directly into her eyes, ignoring his thudding heart. He tried to fight the slow smile that spread across his face, but failed miserably.

"Oh, come on. That doesn't count," he said.

"No?" asked Robin. "Then maybe this will."

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of cheated on some of the prompts, and just threw them into Nick's anecdotes without really explaining them, but it was the best I could come up with!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
